


recovery

by vonseal



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Acceptance, M/M, Romance, god bless parkjinchu, or the path to acceptance, wITH CUTE FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12105342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: Jinwoo noted the acceptance in Myungjun's expression, the love that shone in his eyes, the happiness he hadn't allowed himself just months before now displayed, fully and completely.





	recovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkjinchu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Year We Met](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9789092) by [parkjinchu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu). 



> first before you read this, STOP::::::
> 
> read [THE YEAR WE MET](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9789092/chapters/21983024) by the beautiful and perfect and talented [parkjinchu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu) pls pls bc this is set in that universe, thank you so so so much mary for letting me use your beautiful universe and add my own imperfect touch to your perfection, wow you're amazing, im so happy you let me write this ;A;.

When Jinwoo had been very young, he came down with the flu. It hit him suddenly, quickly, and he was forced in bed by his doctor for days. For a while, it didn't really bother him, mostly because he was spending all of his free time moaning into his pillow and trying to run back to the warmth that sleep had to offer. However, as the flu started to loosen its grip on Jinwoo's small, frail body, he realized he was stuck in a weird, in-between state; he was no longer very sick, but he wasn't actually better.

“Mom,” he complained as she came in to give him his medicine, “when can I get up and go play with all of my friends?”

“When you're better,” she responded, and a gentle hand came up to feel his forehead.

He waited for a few seconds, knowing she liked to silently assess the situation, and then he pouted, jutting his lower lip out and widening his eyes. “Mom,” he started again, “I'm all better.”

She didn't believe a single word, and she snorted, moving his bangs out of his eyes. “Not yet, you're not,” came her counter. “It might be a few more days.”

Jinwoo whined and flopped back down into his bed. He stared up at his ceiling, at all the stickers he had pasted above him one day in boredom, the ones his mom fussed at him for, the ones he refused to take down. “Why is it taking so long?”

“Recovery isn't quick.” His mother was pouring his medicine into a small cup. “Recovery takes effort. It takes _time_ , Jinwoo.” She handed over the medicine, which Jinwoo regarded in distaste. “And it takes medicine. Sit up and drink it.”

Obviously, his mothers words were only supposed to apply to sickness, to illness, to Jinwoo's childhood bout with the flu. But they became something more than that, though she didn't know it. Honestly, Jinwoo didn't even know it until a specific moment in his life, a small sliver in time, when he looked up at Myungjun's nervous, apologetic expression.

“I'm sorry,” Myungjun whispered.

Jinwoo's hands were by his side. The fingers of one were outstretched slightly, curved cautiously, grasping at the thin air. And Myungjun's hands were in his pockets, clenched fists visible in the outline of his jeans.

It had happened in an instant. Their hands, which had been linked together as they walked down the street, were now apart, and Jinwoo felt an emptiness take over in the space where Myungjun had filled.

“I'm so sorry,” came Myungjun's repeated apology.

Jinwoo blinked before turning his gaze past Myungjun, to the lady standing nearby, seated on a bench in wait for the bus – staring at them.

It was a recovery.

Jinwoo tore his eyes away from the lady and back to Myungjun. Myungjun no longer looked at him. His cheeks were flushed and his own stare was averted. His steps were longer, his strides were quicker, and Jinwoo found himself trailing behind.

But it was a recovery.

Myungjun was still trying to accept himself. He had gone through life with the belief that his sexuality, that _who he was_ , had been an illness. He had tried to remedy his sickness, with no success, and only now did he realize that he couldn't rid himself of it.

He had to accept it.

Perhaps, then, a recovery process didn't have to apply only to the flu. Perhaps, then, a recovery process could be undoing the years and years of torment that he had put himself through.

Jinwoo hurried after Myungjun, matching his pace, and he smiled over at his boyfriend. He didn't reach out his hand. He stood aside, not touching shoulders, not acting as Myungjun's partner. Recovery, sometimes, took effort and strength, and he wanted to watch Myungjun accept himself slowly and naturally. He didn't want to force it.

Myungjun glanced over at him again. “Jinwoo, I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I'm sorry I'm like this.”

Jinwoo didn't know how to respond to that. He continued their walk, quiet for a few seconds, before asking, “Like what?”

There was no answer, and so Jinwoo sighed, looking up at the clouds, puffy and white against a blue background. “Myungjun, it's okay.”

“It isn't, though.” Myungjun was downtrodden, a stark difference from the energetic boy who had planted kiss after kiss on Jinwoo's face earlier that morning. “But...but one day, it will be, right? One day, _I'll_ be okay.”

There was no hesitation on Jinwoo's part: “You already are.”

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Some days were worse than others. For the most part, Myungjun was happy with their relationship. He planned dates, conveniently located somewhere quiet, somewhere empty, somewhere with only _them_ , and he would coo over Jinwoo.

He took Jinwoo's chin in his hands, admiring his face for a few seconds before giggling and planting a large kiss on his cheek. His lips lingered, soft and gentle against Jinwoo's skin, and a hot breath fanned over him as Myungjun whispered, “I like kissing you, Jinwoo. I like it a lot.”

Jinwoo would recognize Myungjun's comfort, and so he would turn his head and gather Myungjun's lips within his own. Sometimes the kisses were chaste and quick. Sometimes they would pepper kisses along the others' face, dipping down to the neck, fingers exploring above shirts. Sometimes the kisses were long and romantic, and they would lay down on the shaded side of the hill, the park scarce in the early hours of the morning, and they wouldn't move from their own intimate embrace.

And then, sometimes, Myungjun would suddenly stop.

His tongue would dart out and he'd wet his chapped lips in a hurried motion before drawing further away from Jinwoo. His eyes, so full of excitement and romance just minutes before, now held something else deeper in them, a fear that Jinwoo had yet to fully break.

Those days were hard. Jinwoo, still burning with desire to kiss his boyfriend, still burning with love and affection, would have to sit back and do his best in order to quell Myungjun's fears and worries.

Myungjun would calm, usually, when he noticed that no one was watching and no one was judging, but he didn't seem to have any need to return to the kiss. He seemed willing enough to stay there, silently, watching the sun rise from its slumber.

Some days were worse, because some days Myungjun would cry. In the darkness of the sleeping world, with Jinwoo as his only witness, he would wail, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, tracing over his jaws, dripping down and creating splotches on his t-shirt.

And if they were truly alone, Jinwoo would hold him.

The proximity, the closeness, was something Myungjun seemed to crave, more so than the usual activities and relationship that Jinwoo had attributed to _couples_. Myungjun needed someone else with him, someone who would keep him close as he broke down, someone who wouldn't cast judgment his way.

Someone, maybe, who understood.

“I'm sorry,” Myungjun would apologize as the tears would slow and as his body would relax. “I'm so sorry, Jinwoo.”

“There's nothing to apologize for.”

It was the truth. It was Jinwoo's honest opinion of the entire situation. Myungjun was in recovery. Myungjun was learning to accept himself for who he was, and after such a long time of treating himself as a diseased person, it was surely going to take some time, some difficulty, to finally reach the stage of acceptance.

Jinwoo would walk that path. Jinwoo would go through every twist, every tumble, every break in the road, until Myungjun was no longer frightened of his own inner desire, of his own inner self.

“I'm your boyfriend,” Myungjun mumbled, and he drew circles with his fingers over top of Jinwoo's pants. “And I can't even kiss you right. _God_ , Jinwoo, I can't even sit here in the dark, in an empty spot, and kiss my own boyfriend.” He would turn his eyes upwards, meeting Jinwoo's gaze, and his eyes were watery and wide and nervous. “Jinwoo, how pathetic am I?”

“Like, a percentage of pathetic?”

Myungjun nodded.

“Oh. Zero, then. Zero percent. You score an F when it comes to being pathetic.” Jinwoo ran his fingers through Myungjun's hair, once, twice, then smiled brightly. “If you want to talk about _perfection_ , though-”

Myungjun hushed him with a shake of his head. “I'm not perfect. I'm _pathetic_.”

“Myungjun-”

“But one day, I'll be okay.” Jinwoo opened his mouth and Myungjun stopped the words from coming. “And don't you dare say that I already am, because I'm _not_ , you know I'm not, but I'm getting there.”

“You can't stop me from thinking it, then.”

Myungjun frowned and leaned forward, nudging Jinwoo with his shoulder. “Jin _woo!_ ” he whined. “Knock it off! You can't say that I'm _okay_. Have you seen me? Have you seen what I do? I stop holding your hand the moment someone looks, and, and I can't even kiss you without freaking out, and I don't get how you think I'm _okay_.”

“Do you love me, Myungjun?” Jinwoo asked, brushing some of Myungjun's hair out of his eyes, just as his mother had done to him oh so many years ago as he trod the path to his own recovery.

Myungjun blinked. “Yes. You know I do.”

“And I love you,” Jinwoo responded. “And maybe it's not as conventional as everyone else. Maybe it is different. Maybe we don't kiss as much. Maybe you're too nervous right now to go public with our love. Maybe the timing is off. And it's okay. It's all okay. Because as long as you love me and as long as I love you, I think the relationship is perfect.”

The birds were waking up. Their calls rang through the air.

Myungjun's eyes were wet again, tears falling down to his cheeks, and without much warning, he moved into Jinwoo's embrace once again.

His lips puckered, kissed Jinwoo once on his neck, then he drew back.

“I don't feel okay,” he admitted.

Jinwoo smiled and wrapped his arms around Myungjun. Myungjun didn't protest.

“You're okay.”

  **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Despite Myungjun's obvious fear of being caught, obvious fear of being himself, he still _liked_ the typical boyfriend activities. He liked to plan dates and kiss Jinwoo when the stars came out. He liked to hold Jinwoo's hand, depending on the amount of people nearby, and he liked to make fond pet names that he would blurt out when Jinwoo least expected it.

He liked to cuddle, too, and it became so simple to cuddle in the privacy of Myungjun's lonely apartment. It seemed to be the only place Myungjun truly accepted himself, locked away in seclusion, and he could open the cage that he locked himself into. Heavy make out sessions and soft looks dominated the space Myungjun called his home. Breakfast dates in the morning, with burnt toast and an omelet that resembled scrambled eggs; dinner dates in the evening, an elaborate meal Myungjun would concoct under the soft dim of the candle light. It was the norm to partake in the usual couple nonsense in Myungjun's apartment.

Jinwoo's place was different. Jinwoo's place was a center of activity, of hustle and bustle. Bin would come in at random times throughout the night, sometimes with Dongmin in tow. If Jinwoo had the day off, maybe Sanha would stop by after or before work, tall and gangly and cheerful., and maybe Minhyuk would appear behind him.

Myungjun claimed he didn't mind it, but his actions told a different story. He would dart away quickly from Jinwoo, regardless of what it was they were doing. Even a simple talk, their feet tangled together on the couch, was treated as taboo, and Myungjun would scramble away if he heard the doorknob turn.

“I'll get okay,” Myungjun would whisper, and then he'd smack Jinwoo prematurely, trying to stop the next words from coming. “And I _swear to god-_ ”

“You're okay.”

Myungjun would hit him again, but a smile would tug at his lips.

Jinwoo expected it, then, when their cuddle sessions were cut short. He expected movie nights to become a little more awkward if Dongmin shuffled into the apartment, or if Bin finally woke up from his lengthy nap and came into the kitchen. And Jinwoo didn't mind it. It was a process, he thought, content instead with just holding Myungjun's hand. It was a recovery.

So when it didn't come one night, after he had prepared himself constantly for that second to hit, he felt confused.

Bin walked in, so by all accounts, Myungjun _should_ have just darted to the edge of the couch. And Bin, while he would raise his eyebrows, had never commented on it (maybe because Jinwoo threatened to kill him if he did, maybe not). He would simply go on his way and then Myungjun would remain plastered away from Jinwoo for the remainder of their film.

But then, one day, Myungjun didn't move.

Bin stopped, inquisitive eyes watching Myungjun. The older boy tensed, but he stuck to Jinwoo's side, as if glued to his clothes. His shoulder pressed into Jinwoo's chest, and the top of his head rested under Jiwnoo's chin, hairs tickling at his skin.

And he cleared his throat before looking up at Bin.

“You're finally awake?”

The words were squeaked out as if he was unsure of talking.

Bin nodded his head slowly and a grin rose to his face, pushing at his cheeks, “You two are really cute!”

Nothing else was said. Bin gave Jinwoo a thumbs up, his own eyes wide with excitement as he stared at the scene before him, at Myungjun's giant step forward on his path. He gathered his food and retreated back to his bedroom, leaving in his track the noise of the television and Myungjun's sudden, light exclamation of, “Jinjin!”

The nickname slipped from his lips so easily, so readily, and Jinwoo couldn't help but smile. “What?”

“Jinjin, he said we're _cute!_ ”

“Didn't he, though?”

“We're a _cute couple!_ ”

He was ecstatic to say that. He was ecstatic to be a cute couple. And as Jinwoo watched, as Jinwoo listened, to Myungjun's enthusiastic behavior and his contagious grins, he realized that Myungjun had crossed a bridge, had neared all the closer to his own personal finish line, had gotten used to _himself_.

He was okay, and Jinwoo would remind him daily. He was okay before, when he was scared to touch Jinwoo. He would be okay later, when he had no qualms with affection.

Kim Myungjun was okay.

  **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Still, even if Myungjun could accept it himself and allow their closest friends to also accept it (as if they hadn't already), strangers appeared to be another matter entirely. Myungjun would no longer shy away from holding Jinwoo's hands, even if he would force himself to do so, his jaw set and his eyes staring firmly ahead. He would deliver a kiss every now and then, too, in ways that never ceased to shock Jinwoo; in a movie theater sometimes, when the lights would dim, Myungjun would take his chance, or at a restaurant, cozy and warm, Myungjun would glance around at all of the other couples before planting a quick peck on Jinwoo's cheek, muttering, “I love you so much,” as he drew back to his own meal.

Jinwoo walked alongside Myungjun, helping him overcome every obstacle with silent acceptance of the long journey. It was all okay.

Therefore, when Myungjun introduced him as, “my friend Jinwoo,” Jinwoo didn't even bat an eye. He _was_ Myungjun's friend, he told himself. And he was more than that. He was Myungjun's boyfriend, he was Myungjun's partner, he was part of Myungjun's life.

The first time, it alarmed him. He had to admit, he didn't expect such words to clench at his heart, to twist at his emotions. Myungjun had dragged him aside, though, eyes wide with fright of his own actions, and had apologized.

“It's hard,” Myungjun had whispered. “It's so, so hard.”

“Aren't you happy with me, though?”

“I am!” Myungjun fretted and worried his hands, wringing them in front of his chest. “Oh my god, I am, I'm sorry, I'll do better next time, I'll be okay soon, I'm sorry.”

He waited for Jinwoo's answer, for the harsh words or the cold shoulder, and Jinwoo realized at that moment the inner battle Myungjun must be facing, to love someone else while being unable to love himself.

And that had been the first time Jinwoo muttered those words. “You're okay _now_.”

Myungjun blinked, obviously not having expected such an answer, and when he realized Jinwoo wasn't going to take it back, he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and held him close, hugged him tightly. “I'm not,” was his reply, “but I will be.”

After that, Jinwoo never once thought Myungjun was less than okay. He would support Myungjun in any way possible as the older boy found the acceptance he so desperately longed for. He would be the pillar in Myungjun's life, the simple reminder that he _wasn't_ broken, that he wasn't diseased, that he wasn't different from anyone else who desired love.

So being _my friend Jinwoo_ didn't bother him.

They finished up shopping one evening, and as Jinwoo grabbed his bags, he thought nothing of it as the cashier said, “You and your friend have a nice day,” to Myungjun as he completed the payment.

It was normal and Jinwoo hadn't thought twice at the cashier's words, but as he tried to move to leave, he realized Myungjun was stuck, frozen in place, his hands lingering on the leftover bags Jinwoo left for _him_ to carry.

He didn't grab them, as he should have. Instead, he contemplated his moves, biting harshly at his bottom lip and shuffling his feet.

“Myungjun,” Jinwoo offered, gesturing to the door. “Are you coming?”

His boyfriend, usually so ready to respond, didn't seem to hear him. It was a reaction that Jinwoo had noticed before, when Myungjun tried to be affectionate in public, when Myungjun tried to console himself for liking a guy. But there would be no reason _now_ to act as such, not when the cashier hadn't seemed to notice the actuality of their relationship.

The cashier looked as confused as Jinwoo felt, and the teenager behind the counter opened his mouth to say something, but Myungjun blurted out whatever had been on his mind.

“Boyfriend.”

The cashier raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“He...it, um...” Myungjun was struggling, but when he finally took the bags from the counter, he seemed determined to complete his sentence. “He's my boyfriend. Not my friend. I mean, he _is_ my friend, my best friend, but also he's...my boyfriend.”

The cashier glanced at Jinwoo, at the smile coming across his face, at the burst of pride in his eyes, then snorted. “Boyfriend, then,” he said. “You and your boyfriend have a nice day.”

And that was that. The cashier called for the next person, who had watched the proceedings with little interest, and Myungjun moved away, bags clutched in shaking hands.

Jinwoo joined him, silently, quietly, as they walked out of the store.

“Boyfriend?” Jinwoo asked suddenly, and Myungjun jumped.

“What?”

“You told him I was your _boyfriend_.”

Myungjun grinned and a light laugh fell from his lips. “Pretty gay of me, isn't it?”

He didn't flinch at the words. He didn't withdraw from the accusation that he was a man who loved another man. He accepted it.

He made it to the finish line, and Jinwoo dropped his grocery bags to gather Myungjun in a hug, burying his face into his _boyfriend's_ shoulder, gripping at his clothes. “Myungjun...”

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

“My shirt is starting to feel wet. Jinwoo, you're crying, aren't you?”

Jinwoo sniffed in response. He felt Myungjun laugh again, body moving with his giggles, and then hands came around to return the embrace, hugging his closely, tightly, on the sidewalk near a busy parking lot, in the watchful eyes of everyone nearby.

Maybe no one cared. Maybe no one judged him. Or, maybe, everyone cared. Maybe everyone hated the display of affection, hated Myungjun and Jinwoo and their love for each other.

 _Jinwoo_ didn't care, though.

 _Myungjun_ didn't care, though.

“I'm okay,” Myungjun whispered, and he kissed the top of Jinwoo's head. “You don't have to worry anymore. I'm okay.”

It had always been true, and it still was.

  **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Myungjun's random visits to the flower shop had yet to cease. Jinwoo had asked why he still came around, why he still looked at the flowers. Originally, on the path to recovery, Myungjun had been too shy to answer, had mumbled something instead about talking to Sanha.

But he had completed his goal. He had come to terms with himself, and he would lean over the front desk, elbows gathering dirt, and squish Jinwoo's cheeks.

“I came to see my amazing boyfriend!” he would announce, and it didn't matter if the store was empty or if customers milled about. He would say those words, despite who was listening in.

Jinwoo wrinkled his nose. “You saw me this morning,” he reminded.

“And I came to see you again.”

“You'll see me tonight, too.”

“Jinwoo, just accept my love, alright?”

Jinwoo did, readily so, as Myungjun kissed him. Usually he gave quick kisses, barely enough time to taste anything but the chapstick he wore. Once, when an overly cute engaged couple had been choosing flowers for their wedding, Myungjun had watched them. The man had whispered something into the girl's ear, and she giggled, shoving at him and whispering for him to stop. Myungjun watched, eyebrows furrowed, before turning to Jinwoo and telling him the dumbest joke possible, eyes wide with anticipation as he awaited Jinwoo's reaction (which, apparently, had been far from ideal). And when the girl decided on her favorite flowers and the man reached for his wallet, she had squealed in delight and kissed him. They had almost gotten lost in their own world, in their own intimacy, lips moving against each others, until Myungjun suddenly ran around the counter, pushing past the _Employees Only_ sign, and plastering himself up against Jinwoo, planting kiss after kiss, desperate and open-mouthed, to Jinwoo's lips.

The couple paid and left, faces red, and Myungjun sat himself up on the counter proudly, not minding the soil that was likely to smear on his pants. “Well,” he said, “I think we all know who the cutest couple in the _world_ is. And it isn't them.”

Jinwoo had just touched his mouth with his fingers, feeling quite dizzy and scattered, and he glanced up at his boyfriend. “Tonight, can you do that again, just... _more?_ ” he had asked.

Myungjun laughed, loud and bright, and nodded his head eagerly, a stark difference from the shy, withdrawn behavior of the Myungjun who had still been on his path to recovery.

“Anything for the best boyfriend in the world!” Myungjun exclaimed. He jumped down from the counter, a grin taking over his face. “You look a little winded, babe. Are you okay?”

Jinwoo noted the acceptance in Myungjun's expression, the love that shone in his eyes, the happiness he hadn't allowed himself just months before now displayed, fully and completely.

Myungjun was okay, and _he_ was okay.

“I'm okay,” Jinwoo replied, and Myungjun beamed even brighter than before.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you know me, you need to know that _the year we met_ is one of my favorite fanfics ever. it's just beautiful and sad and happy and cute and poetic and it's everything i needed??? i still remember early early morning lectures, i'd get the update, and i would have to wait until class was over, but it was always so early in the morning and i'd buy breakfast and sit and read and then cry bc i just loved it all so much.
> 
> long story short, i love it and i love parkjinchu and this isn't even a quarter of the perfection that is her writing, but i tried <3
> 
> hmu at [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com), and hit parkjinchu up [@parkjinchu](http://www.parkjinchu.tumblr.com). i love u mary!


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